On 20 May 2026, more than 20 African and international human rights organisations came together with an urgent message: the continent's draft declaration meant to protect human rights defenders risked becoming a tool for silencing them instead. In a joint submission to the African Commission on Human and Peoples' Rights, these groups laid bare three critical flaws that could undermine the very people who challenge corruption, expose abuses, and hold power accountable across Africa.
The stakes of this moment are enormous. Human rights defenders—journalists, lawyers, activists, and ordinary citizens who speak up for justice—operate in an increasingly hostile environment. From arbitrary arrests to surveillance campaigns, many face real danger simply for doing their work. A robust continental declaration could provide them with the legal shield they desperately need. But the current draft, these organisations argue, falls dangerously short.
The first problem is fundamental: the draft blurs the line between state actors and defenders, diluting the definition of who qualifies for protection. This confusion matters profoundly because it opens the door for governments to claim the mantle of "defender" while denying protection to genuine activists. The organisations recommended clarifying the definition to align with international standards—ensuring that recognition is based on the actual work defenders do, not on whether their activism pleases state governments or conforms to cultural expectations.
The second concern strikes at language that sounds protective on the surface but masks real danger. Heavy references to "African values" and "traditional values" pepper the draft, yet remain strikingly vague and undefined. This haziness is not accidental; it creates space for abuse. The organisations warned that states could weaponise such vaguer language to silence dissent or target marginalised groups—women activists, LGBTQ+ defenders, religious minorities—under the guise of protecting heritage. They called for removing these problematic references entirely and, instead, launching a separate, genuinely inclusive consultation where African communities could explore values together in ways that actually strengthen rights rather than constrain them.
The third flaw reflects a pattern seen in many restrictive laws across the continent: the draft leans heavily on undefined limitations justified by "public order" concerns. History shows how these escape clauses have been used to justify repression. The organisations pushed back hard, demanding that the declaration embed explicit, clear safeguards against reprisals, surveillance, harassment, and arbitrary restrictions. They insisted on binding obligations that require states—not merely encourage them—to protect defenders from these harms.
What makes this intervention particularly significant is its unified voice. More than 20 organisations, spanning across Africa and internationally, speaking as one, sent a clear signal: the continent is watching whether its institutions will strengthen or weaken the protection of those who speak truth to power. They framed their recommendations as being in service of the Declaration's true purpose—keeping human rights defenders at its centre, ensuring state accountability, and creating a framework that aligns with existing international commitments like the UN Declaration on Human Rights Defenders and the African Charter on Human and Peoples' Rights.
This moment is not the end of the process; it is a crucial juncture. The organisations have shown what a strong declaration could look like. Whether the African Commission heeds these voices will signal whether the continent is serious about protecting those who defend freedom.